Odds and Evens
by Cuban Sombrero Gal
Summary: ONESHOT. Percy wants to scream and to shout, because odds are dire and this is dire and how can they sit there, so complacent and happy?


_Odds_** and **Evens

_(A story of betrayal, of obsession and of hope)_

The world works in odds and evens, Percy thinks. The latter can spread their wings and soar, fly without the aid of broomstick or thestral, and odds are just that: odd.

Percy counts his family methodically during dinner.

Two. Two. Two. Two. Eight.

Plus One. Nine.

Food litters the table, its delicious aromas floating in the air and mingling with the steady hum of chatter, and yet all this is lost to the numbers that infiltrate his mind.

Eight. One

Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, Ginny and Ron. Percy

It takes a minute to sink in, but this is all so _wrong, _and then it hits him: the Weasley family is in danger, they're the target of Fudge's aspirations and He Who Must Not Be Named' wrath, and the centre of all his (Percy hates Harry, because Harry has taken his place, and he can't mention his name) moronic plans for the salvation of the wizarding world, and can't he see, it's fruitless, there's too many odds in the world and it's already gone down the drain.

(Percy wants to scream and to shout, because odds are dire and this is dire and how can they sit there, so complacent and happy?)

His mouth opens, but then a quick scan of the table reveals eleven dishes. Two and two and two and two and two is ten, and there's one evil omen left over, disguised as a plate of carrots and corn. _Odds bad_, a voice in his head screeches, and it hurts.

Percy is putting them in danger and these dishes aren't helping and Percy can't bring himself to hurt them anymore.

(Some rational thought tells him that this is stupid, it's just his family, not a matter of life or death, but family is never rational, and this really _is _life or death)

His limbs shake violently as he stands up, his eyes piercing his father's like the blade of a knife.

"I'm going," he says, and he doesn't elaborate. Surely his family can understand that he's the odd, and that he's tearing them apart, destroying them, he's cutting them down from inside their own safety net. Percy is unbalancing their numbers, and that's why they're in danger.

An argument starts, cutting words rebounding off opponents, vicious verbal curses flying through the air, but Percy hears none of it, his head is filled with _two, two, two, two, one._ He disguises his decision by defending the Ministry, and checks his watch, once, twice.

7:53. He can't run now. The glowing red numbers burn him.

8:00 hits and Percy counts his steps to the front door. One, two, three, four. Everything the way it should be, neat and tidy. The familiar squeezing sensation of Apparation engulfs him, and he counts to four, because the nagging little voice in his head chides him for counting to three, and then he's gone.

**--- **

It continues for the next two years. There's a tingle in his spine when the courtroom houses an odd number of prisoners, a lump in his throat when he's trapped in an elevator with an odd number of people, a searing ache when he sees Harry's photo lining the walls of the Ministry (he has no rational explanation for this fear, but it hurts him anyway). He sits at his desk today, counting his quills.

Two, four, six, seven.

A wave of panic floods him and he quickly removes his fingers from the pile. Two letters, he received today, and now he can't bring himself to handle the quills and reply. It's _wrong, _they're _odd. _Two letters, four meetings, ten cups of steaming hot coffee and nineteen times he's missed his family, and it's two years since …

(He forces himself to miss them again).

(It doesn't work. He's gone beyond anything that can be controlled by emotional counting, falling head first into the deepest pits of insanity).

A wave crashes upon him, repeating _nineteen, nineteen, nineteen, _and so he heads off to Hogwarts to fight, because then he can't miss them again, and maybe, just maybe, everything will be even again.

**--- **

(a/n: I've never actually suffered OCD, in fact I've never even met someone who suffers it, so if there's anything wrong with my portrayal, go ahead and share. Other than that, I really hope you like it. And, for those looking for more of my fics, I've posted a sneak preview of a new Neville/Hannah story on my Livejournal, the link to which can be found on my profile.)

_fin,_

_-Cuba …x_


End file.
